1 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from transitory things,
Toward's heaven, thy destined place.
Sun and moon and stars decay;
Time shall soon this earth remove;
Rise, my soul, and haste away,
To seats prepared above.

2 Rivers to the ocean run,
Nor stay in all their course;
Fire ascending seeks the sun;
Both speed them to their source;
So my soul that's born of God
Pants to view his glorious face,
Upward tends to his abode,
To rest in his embrace.

3 Cease, my pilgrims, cease to mourn;
Press onward to the prize;
Soon the Saviour will return,
Triumphant in the skies.
Yet a season, and we know
Happy entrance will be given;
All our sorrows left below,
And earth exchanged for heaven.